


Occlude:  The Indifferent

by Kasan_Soulblade



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Gen, The abandoned three, and story mode doesn't tell the whole truth, au set during the emissary, profanity warnings for wolf, semi-serious attempt at a smash bros fic, where things go wrong in story mode
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: He'd drowned on this air filled world, sans water, sans smoke.He'd also flown without wings and scrambled from the madness of the crash to find himself in a place more than a little mad itself.No smiling smarmy cats to blame though, just a fluff ball with only it's name and tone to communicate, and some wimpy brat in green who wouldn't talk despite not being broke in the right way so that he couldn't.Still he'd lived, through them and with them. And though one of the lot wouldn't listen and the other had a hero complex a galaxy wide it didn't mean that they were the heroes here.  No, those were locked away.  As for them, they were indifferent to some extent or another, one with being a hero of somewhere else and him with being the villain of somewhere else and it...  Well it just wanted someone to listen to it's song and nothing more.





	Occlude:  The Indifferent

It’d been a grand story, with all the special effects in all the right places and the morals set all about in all the right spaces.  It was a thing of chaos so set in the outré that it soaked into its setting.  The world ranged from the suspiciously scarcely populated la la land of maybe left of Albuquerque to “hey, maybe that was a town but let’s not focus on that now” and bound between the two phases fast enough the innocent  never caught on.

As for the not so innocent the tale’d been packaged as a child’s game and no one was the wiser.

And the cast, so wild and ranged, he’d sorta grasped the why behind that when  they’d made him sit still long enough to endure a half hour of the candy coated kiddie version of things.  That and he’d royally sucked as option one, number two (the fluff ball though he’d never tell) was balanced enough and though not graceful it was a flight of sorts.  So he’d endured, and been given the message as it were, and after a bit of wrangling with his image and how’d be effected he’d made sure it wouldn’t (he’d never get caught, and he wasn’t and it was fine) and did the whole thing from top to bottom.

Bounties were low and business was slow, an outbreak of peace did that, and his diversion had whiled away a week and in the end he’d called it fair.  Wrong, but fair, and having lived between the grey and black found it fitting.

But still it was wrong, and so divorced from truth he doubt any’d believe him even if he told the lot from the surest place of truth (many cups in, too many past counting dancing on that Neverland of near incoherence that wasn’t).  Hell, sometimes he’d wondered if his truth was truth.  But with no one to ask and no real was to be sure he remained unsure and spent spare moments letting his thoughts circle about the idea of a child’s game not being one, not really.

Still in quiet moments he recalled the near not-touch of something large but light alighted on his wrist.  Too spherical to be a bird, but prone to a flight of its own thought graceless and fluttered it’d been flight.

And he’d had respected that.  Clawing out the innards of his wrecked Wolfen he’d gotten his taste of flight and being without and had come to admire all flights in his own twisted little way.

And flight and fight, the thing’d been stupid enough to get those words crossed all the time.  It was that special stupid that most found endearing and he’d found frustrating, but it’d alighted on him like a balled up parrot with no sense of personal space and no claws but one hell of a grip besides.

He’d shaken at it and shaken his fist and roared and raved at the worst of it and the smarmy little thing had had the guts to flutter down on his snout and latch it’s clawless flipper paws on his face and hang on until he’d realized somewhere along the way that its grip wasn’t helping his breathing any and… They’d had a truce then.  One that he’d broken.  Then it had gotten uppity and back stabbity, then him again because damned if he hadn’t the opportunity had been gold… But they’d had a truce and them shakily honoring it had been enough to keep them going for a while.

And all by accident, between him, and it, and others… well they’d saved the world.

No bounty though.  Sucky bounty if he’d called the game and his (maybe) memories a bounty of a kind.

Still in these quiet moments, he remembered the not quite real touch on his wrist, and taking one paw over the span rubbed and rubbed and didn’t forget no matter the friction, and in that idle moment had to wonder if it’d remembered him.  Closing his eye he growled and was glad it was just him and he was alone in this base for the time being.  He could be weak here and now, and in this moment he was. Alternating between indulging this itch he’d never quite scratch and one memory, the panic inducing sensation of not being able to breathe.

And having no familiar void of space or other some righteous blind Cornerian pilot to blame the feeling on.


End file.
